


this patch of sky

by Shaedan



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 11:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19149754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaedan/pseuds/Shaedan
Summary: He disappeared underneath the grating again, followed by clanging noises.“I didn’t want to interrupt you,” Rose said softly. “I jus’...”“You’re not!” the Doctor said cheerfully. “I’m almost done—”A sharp, electrical spark echoed through the room and though Rose couldn’t grasp the word he said in response, it had the unmistakable air of cursing.“—anyway,” he finished, and added, mulishly, “Ow.”Rose pressed her lips together to stop a giggle.or, rose has a nightmare





	this patch of sky

**Author's Note:**

> me: rose absolutely isn’t in love with the doctor: the fic  
> a friend: ooh, i think i’ve already read that one, “series two of the doctor who revival” by russel t. davies, wasn’t it?  
> me: i am but a humble apprentice walking in the footsteps of the master

Rose startled awake so hard it lifted her off the bed.

Her heart pounded against her ribcage like it was trying to fight its way out; she was breathing so hard it was making her lungs scream; and the thin sheen of sweat on her skin stuck to the sheets when she fell back down again with a dejected thump.

Nightmares. She _hated_ nightmares.

She supposed most people did. She also supposed most people didn’t have nightmares quite like hers, because most people hadn’t run around half the universe accompanied by a daft, reckless man with no sense of self-preservation, encountering all sorts of monsters.

Rose shuddered. The darkness of her room seemed almost a physical thing, then, pressing in on her from all sides.

Still not having trained herself out of the habit, she rolled over to check the time. But—no time on the TARDIS, the Doctor liked to say, and so there were no clocks, either. There was no way to tell how long she’d been asleep or whether she should try for some more.

Deliberating for a moment, she concluded that even if she should, she didn’t want to.

The sheets clung to her as she slid off the bed. She was halfway to the pile of discarded clothes by her dresser before she realised she didn’t know where she was going.

Oh. Yes. She was going to find the Doctor. Something in her had decided that already.

She was still sleepy. Not entirely awake yet. That was why, yes, had to be why. She tried to convince herself that was why, and then she found herself stood there in the middle of her room, directionless.

Company. Company was good, she decided, not one to argue with her subconscious, and bent at the waist to find her bra.

The Doctor was almost definitely up, probably fixing something in the TARDIS. He barely ever slept, or at least not when Rose noticed, and by the hum of the engines, they were still in the vortex. He couldn’t be that hard to find, she figured, and shrugged on a cardigan to protect her sleep-warm body from the chill of the air.

She stumbled on him in the console room, lying on his back below the grating of the floor with nothing but his plimsoll-clad feet sticking out. Arms wrapped around herself, Rose quietly stepped up to the jump seat and sat down.

The Doctor’s head, hair in complete disarray, came up through the hole in the floor. “Hello, Rose.” He sounded mildly confused, but not unhappy. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Rose shrugged. “Woke up. Couldn’t fall asleep again.”

The Doctor seemed to deliberate this for a moment. Carefully, he said, “Nightmare?”

She shrugged again. His lips thinned and he put up a finger. “Just give me a mo’. I’ll be right there.”

He disappeared underneath the grating again, followed by clanging noises.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you,” Rose said softly. “I jus’...”

“You’re not!” the Doctor said cheerfully. “I’m almost done—”

A sharp, electrical spark echoed through the room and though Rose couldn’t grasp the word he said in response, it had the unmistakable air of cursing.

“—anyway,” he finished, and added, mulishly, “ _Ow_.”

Rose pressed her lips together to stop a giggle.

Another clanging noise, which she guessed was him kicking something, and a reproachful mutter in those same, strange tones as his curse, and then he popped out again, squeezing his shoulders through the gap. His suit had been rumpled by the ordeal and the first thing he did, after giving her a grin, was attempt to straighten it out.

Rose slipped out of the jump seat and walked over to him. “Here, let me.”

He stood very still as she worked. Somewhere in between putting her hands on his lapels and smoothing down the sides, Rose realised what it was she was doing. Swallowing, she finished, giving his shoulder a little pat.

“Thank you,” the Doctor said.

Rose dipped her head.

The fear of her nightmare came creeping back in with her sudden insecurity, and she shivered, wrapping her arms back around herself.

“You shouldn’t scold the TARDIS,” she said, half to distract herself. “She’s doing her best.”

The Doctor looked doubtful.

“She is!” Rose protested and patted the nearest wall. “You are, aren’t you, old girl?”

The constant humming changed pitch slightly, which Rose took as agreement. By the way the Doctor’s expression shifted toward indignant, she wasn’t too far off.

“What was it you said before?” Rose wondered, changing topic. “The TARDIS didn’t translate.”

He looked at her, his eyes unreadable in the way they always were, when she dared to really look. “She translates foreign languages, Rose, not the one she knows.”

“Oh.”

It’d been _his_ language he’d sworn in. And scolded the TARDIS in. Rose realised she hadn’t heard it before, not ever.

“It’s pretty,” she said, unsure of how to proceed. He didn’t like talking about his home, and that was more than understandable, but she couldn’t help the consuming curiosity she felt. She wanted to know for its own sake, but, she suspected, it was partly because maybe it would let her understand _him_ better. She wanted more pieces of him, wanted all of him. He would never give it to her, but that only made her want it more.

A small smile twitched at the corner of the Doctor’s mouth. “It’s convoluted,” he corrected.

“Well, I can’t hear that, can I? It just sounds like music.”

His expression turned thoughtful for a moment. “No,” he said, his eyes refocusing on her, “no, I guess not. Do you want to talk about it?”

He meant the nightmare, not the language; by now, Rose was used to his rapid shifts in subject. She fidgeted and looked away.

“No,” she said, and she didn’t. “I barely remember it anyway,” but she did. She just couldn’t explain why it’d been a nightmare without telling him things that would make him abandon her on the nearest planet in a commitment-phobic panic.

He didn’t believe her for a second and let her see that.

Rose’s eyes darted away from him, to the jump seat. Yes, sitting down seemed like a good idea.

The Doctor didn’t move but followed her with his gaze as she made her way to the seat and sat down. Rose kicked her legs, gripping the seat with her hands, and tried for a smile. “Can I just sit here while you tinker?”

“Of course.” He ran a hand through his hair, smearing black oil into it, and made a gesture towards his hole. “I’ll just be over here. Give a shout if you want anything.”

Rose nodded and off the Doctor went. The console room filled with the companionable noise of the Doctor mucking about, loosening nuts and bolts and muttering to himself—in English, now, but still about as incomprehensible—and the occasional clanging and electrical sparks, loud above the background hum of the TARDIS motors. Rose kicked her legs and moved her gaze around the room, from coral strut to the console, to the hole in the grating to the archway leading to the rest of the ship and back again.

“This isn’t working,” the Doctor said then, grimly, and a wild tuft of hair popped up out of the hole. Rose’s hands hurt, she noticed, and looked down. They were gripping the chair so tightly her knuckles had turned white. “I can _feel_ your jitters all the way from over here.”

Rose loosened her grip. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be—” the Doctor lifted himself up from the hole with nothing but his arms— “don’t be _sorry_ , ‘s not your fault.”

His suit was rumpled again. Rose wanted to go fix it, but she stayed where she was.

The Doctor pulled at a sleeve as he walked up to the console, eyes fixed on one of the screens. He pulled it towards him and pressed at a few buttons in quick succession, labelled in incomprehensible circular script; then he was off. He dashed around the console, flipping levers and pressing buttons.

“Are we going somewhere?” Rose asked, a hand coming up to rub at her upper arm. “I _was_ planning to go back to sleep. At some point.”

“Not to worry! No mid-sleepy times adventures.” He spun past, giving her a grin. “And that’s a promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Rose threatened.

“Yeah?” As he passed by, his hand darted down to grab hers. She stumbled after as he led her to the big lever, putting both their hands on it. “I’m going to show you something that always makes me feel better.”

The TARDIS landing sequence sounded, but there was no wobble after the resounding _clunk_. The Doctor ran over to the doors, Rose’s hand still in his and her stumbling after. He opened them, and—

There was nothing. Nothing at all outside the doors. Just blackness.

Something between vertigo and existential dread lurched in the pit of Rose’s stomach. “Are we in space?”

“Yup,” the Doctor said and abruptly folded his legs to sit down, releasing her hand.

She grabbed onto the doorframe and leaned out a little bit, eyes wide. “But… wouldn’t all the air get sucked out?”

There was the sound of tapping on wood. Rose glanced down and saw the Doctor patting the spot beside himself. He was staring out into the nothingness, back against the doorframe and one leg bent at the knee, pulled up against his chest. The other dangled outside the TARDIS, which struck Rose as somewhat poorly thought-through, but, on the other hand, what did she know. And he _was_ the Doctor. Poorly thought-through was his life philosophy.

She sat down.

“There’s an air shell—” he made a sweeping gesture— “projected around the TARDIS. She won’t let us suffocate, so don’t you worry.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Kind of the opposite of what I wanted you to do, actually.”

“Yeah?” Rose cautiously leaned forward and glanced down. More blackness that way, tugging at her. She sucked in a breath and rocked back, pulling her legs up against her chest and looping her arms around them. “What did you want me to do then? ‘Cause all I see is… space. Which is a great big load of nothing.”

“Common misconception, that, actually.” She saw him shift a little out of the corner of her eye. That leg was still dangling off the edge. “There’s actually a thin—and when I say thin, I mean _thin_ , like atoms-thin—or thick, I s’pose—a thin mixture of gases, connecting all the solar systems and the galaxies and the stars and the planets. And in some places, like this one, there’s more of it.” He paused for a moment. “Everything in the universe, all the elements, everything more complex than a hydrogen atom, comes from stars. And when stars die…”

“They explode, yeah? Like a supernova?”

“Well, some do. Most just sort of… poof.”

An amused snort left Rose’s nose. “Poof?”

“They shrink and compress and it’s all a bit underwhelming really—if astrophysics can ever be called ‘underwhelming’—but the important part is that bits of ‘em fall off. The gas, the new gases that the star made, they’re expelled into a great big cloud. Also called nebulae, but I think my term is a bit more illustrative.”

He loved explaining things. This time he actually made sense, which was a bonus, but Rose liked listening to him anyway. It was something about his voice, she thought. Or, well, probably all of it. Of course, she could never actually mention that or he’d never shut up. This was clearly the main problematic thing about it, and certainly not any of its other implications.

“No, hold on, I think I’ve heard this once.” Some magazine, maybe, or, wait, that science programme on telly that was always on before her mum’s old reality show. Blimey, that had to be years ago by now. “A nebula, that’s like, a star nursery, yeah?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him incline his head. “Go on.”

“What, are you serious?” She turned to him, giddy astonishment apparent on her face. “We’re gonna see a star be born?”

“Nine-four two-two Vandor Gamma.” He leisurely swung his dangling leg back and forth. “That’s the one. Y’know, a few billion years from now, they make the most brilliant pastries here. Well, this side of the galaxy anyway. I’ll have to take you there sometime. The Vandor system’s _famous_ for their pastries. That’s no mean feat when there’s half a universe to compete with, eh?”

Rose turned back to the empty bit of space in front of them and squinted. “You said there’s a great big cloud of gas, but I can’t see nothing.”

“Oh, yes. A great, big, huge cloud of gas. In space. Takes millions and millions of years for it to get dense enough to start forming a star. But—impromptu biology quiz! How do our eyes see?”

Rose ignored the way he said ‘our’ made her insides all wobbly and thought back to old biology lessons. They seemed to be lifetimes away. “They, they take in light, yeah? Light that’s bounced off of the… stuff.”

“A+ and a gold star, Miss Tyler. Our eyes collect reflected light which our brains then interpret into an image. There is no star yet, and so there is no light, which means…” He leaned back, crossing his arms, and made a gesture at the empty space. “We can’t see a thing.”

Shifting, Rose cautiously put her legs out over the edge, too, gripping onto the ledge with her fingers. “Some show, then,” she mock-scoffed, leaning forward and kicking her legs. “This how you impress girls where you’re from? ‘Cause I’m telling you, it might not be the best strategy.”

“Oi,” the Doctor protested. She could hear the smile in his voice, but he was doing his best to sound stern. “Rose Tyler, this nebula has taken hundreds of millions of years to form. Have some respect for that, will you?”

“‘M just sayin’,” she said, suppressing a grin, “‘s not exactly riveting stuff, staring at nothing.”

“No, but you see, it happens all at once. Takes very, very long to get all the parts in place but once they are… ‘Fwoosh!’ In just a few seconds.  Oh, look!” He suddenly sat up straight and pointed. “It’s started.”

And now she saw it—a small pinprick of white light, either impossibly small or impossibly far away, flared up, only to go out again. It lit up and went out a second time, a little bigger.

The Doctor leaned closer to her, their shoulders bumping together, and murmured, “Any minute now.”

Even through all his layers, he was cool against her, and Rose told herself that was why a shivering rush ran through her.

“Are you cold?” he said, suddenly concerned. As he talked, another pinprick of light, still larger than the one before it, shone strongly for a few moments before going out. “I’ve been meaning to upgrade the circuits so the air shell retains heat for ages, but I keep forgetting. I think it’s been actual centuries at this point, which is just embarrassing.” As he talked, the Doctor shifted away and shrugged off his coat, laying it over her shoulders instead. Rose froze in place, but he didn’t seem to notice. “It’s not like it’s entirely my fault, though. D’you you know how rare ionic resonance drives are? They only manufacture them for use in _toys_ nowadays and we don’t go to toy factories enough.”

The weight of his coat was comforting, and it was drenched in his scent. Even with the infinite vacuum of space dropping down in front of her, a very lizard brain-y, basic part of Rose’s insisted that nothing bad could happen to her as long as she wore this coat.

Resisting all temptation to ponder the implications of that in any more depth, Rose asked, “But won’t _you_ get cold?” Now that he’d said it, she noticed that it was a bit chilly; she wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to stave off a shiver.

A fourth burst of light, far, far away.

“Ah, I’ll be fine.” He adjusted the coat over her shoulders, the backs of his fingers brushing against her neck, and she slipped her arms inside the sleeves. They were much too long for her, covering more than half of her palms. “Oh, Rose, look!”

It started slowly: a flare of light, brighter and larger than the ones before it, that blinked and went out, blinked and went out, flickered—and then, a flood of fire erupted from the pinprick point, cascading out into space, a singular tongue of flame against the black. The light swirled and burnt so brightly of Rose’s hands came up to shield her eyes, and she almost missed it when the star, from one moment to the next, lit from the inside, a perfect sphere of fire, and even though it wasn’t, couldn’t, be real, the sound resonated inside her very bones.

“Fwoosh,” the Doctor whispered in her ear. One of his arms had settled over her shoulders and now his hand squeezed her upper arm.

“Whoa,” Rose breathed. For a moment, she forgot she was cold—how could she be, with a sun so close it felt like she could reach out and touch it. Then, a particularly nasty shiver racked through her and the Doctor pulled away.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Cold hands. I forgot.”

“You’re warmer than the vacuum of space,” Rose said wryly and leaned into him again. Almost as if on instinct, his arms looped around her shoulders and held her to him.

Together, they watched the star settle. The light flickered, weak and pale, but it was steadily gaining more confidence. Tongues of liquid flame were spat out into the darkness, billowing out and falling back, and Rose saw the nebula, all the multi-coloured gas and debris, lit up by the newborn star.

He’d said this always made him feel better and, now, sitting in the doorway of the TARDIS, with the Doctor’s arms around her, his coat over her shoulders, watching this star be born, Rose thought it made her feel better, too. It was impossible to feel anything but awe, in the face of this. “That’s…”

“And this isn’t even the most important bit,” the Doctor said and squeezed her again. “The most important bit is that seeing this always makes me remember that the particles that star is made of, are the same sort of particles we are made of.”

“In a few billion years, I might be someone’s sun,” Rose mumbled and stared. It was a little too huge to wrap her head around.

There was a short pause. She could feel his eyes prickle on the side of her head. “Yes,” he said, very softly. “No matter what happens to you, no matter what you do, at some point, you’ll always end up as a star. Isn’t that amazing?”

“And you,” Rose said, and turned to him with a little smile, prompting him to agree. “You’ll be one, too.”

Alien. He was so alien. Of course the Doctor would take comfort in some day being part of the universe. To Rose, it seemed too big. She didn’t want to be a sun. She just wanted to be Rose. Rose, right here, right now, next to the Doctor. The Doctor and Rose. They didn’t need to be stars.

“Yeah.” He stared out into space. “Some day.”

“Some day,” she repeated, looking at his stubbled cheek. “Maybe we’ll be the same star.”

“That would be lovely, wouldn’t it?” he said and turned back to her. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were crinkled in the way that meant that he was, on the inside, the melancholy gone as quickly as it had come.

“Yeah.” A rumbling ache built in Rose’s chest, behind her jaw, and it crept out of her mouth as a yawn. Too late, she attempted to cover her mouth with a hand.

“Right!” The Doctor hopped up. Rose almost fell over—she hadn’t realised how heavily she’d been leaning on him. “Sleepy times for sleepy humans. Feel any better?”

“Think so,” Rose said and took his offered hand. As he tugged her up, there was another yawn. “Thanks.”

“It was my pleasure,” the Doctor said softly. “Shall I walk you to your room, then, miss Tyler? You’re going to trip over something, in your state.”

Rose nodded and he transferred her hand from his to his arm. She wasn’t that tired, but she’d take any chance she got of more time with the Doctor.

The TARDIS made it a short trip to Rose’s room, out of some sort of misguided kindness, and the Doctor was gentleman enough to open the door for her as he released her arm. But faced with the darkness of her room, Rose’s heart fell in her chest. With a cold clump at the bottom of her ribcage, she stayed exactly where she was, unable to go forward and unwilling to turn around.

The Doctor looked at her for a moment. Then he stretched out his hand again. “Come on, then.”

She took it. “Where are we going?”

“You need to sleep,” he said, leading her into her room. The lights went on automatically, like they usually did when he entered a room. “You’re no fun when you’re sleep deprived. But! Nightmares are persistent little buggers, so…”

He released her and made his way to the spot next her dresser, where he sat down with a flourish, crossing his legs.

“I’ll stand guard,” he finished. “Or, well, _sit_ guard, as it were.”

“Against the nightmares?” Rose said. She shifted the door closed behind her with a foot and made her way over to her bed.

“That’s the idea. Guardian against the monsters, me. I’m very good at it.”

“Been doing it a long time?” Rose sat down on her bed.

The Doctor tilted his head to the side. “Is that a jab at my age, Rose Tyler? Are you saying I’m _old_?”

“No, no, absolutely not.” She pulled her legs up on the bedspread, and the lights dimmed to low. “Youth itself, you are.”

It did feel better to have him here. And also worse. She slipped under the covers and rolled over on her side. Leaning against her dresser, the Doctor was nothing but a silhouette, a shadowy protector in the dark.

“G’night, Doctor,” she said and made herself close her eyes.

“G’night, Rose,” the Doctor said, uncharacteristically gently.

It lasted for all of about two minutes, tops, before her eyes were open again and she was staring at him. His eyes glinted a little in the low light when he suddenly moved his head.

Worse. Definitely worse.

Rose sat up, which made him look over at her again, and patted the spot beside her. She could practically hear his eyebrows going into his hairline.

“Can’t see your face,” she patiently reminded him.

He cleared his throat. _You know what I meant_.

“I made you stay here, ‘m not gonna have you sit on the floor the whole night!” She patted the mattress again. “Come lie down.”

For a moment, she didn’t realise what it was she’d done, and then for a another the Doctor still didn’t move while she was caught in the throes of death by embarrassment. Then, he unfolded his long limbs and got up from the floor, walked almost soundlessly across the room. The mattress dipped as he lay down, and Rose finally exhaled.

She rolled over on her other side to watch him. He sat with his back straight against the headboard, legs crossed by his ankles and hands folded on his stomach; remarkably relaxed, by the looks of things.

Rose should probably calm down, too. It wasn’t a big deal. He didn’t treat it like one, so it wasn’t. Besides, they’d done way more… intimate things before. Mostly on accident or under threat of violence or arrest, but still. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t.

This did feel better. With him right there, nightmares seemed a way more distant problem.

Mainly because it made her contemplate way, way scarier things.

They were wonderful, too, though, she supposed and yawned again. Really quite nice. Like putting her hands in that mussed mop of hair. Or snogging him for a bit. Yeah. That’d be nice.

The Doctor slid down to lie on his back, side by side with her. His head rolled over to the side and his eyes glinted in the low light again as he met her eyes. “Rose?”

“Thanks,” she blurted out to stop herself from saying anything else. His voice had gone all gravelly, coming from somewhere low in his chest, and she—

“For what?” he said, genuinely bewildered.

“For, I dunno. Helping me.” She ran a finger over the sheets. “Picking me up in the first place. Jus’. In general.”

“Oh.” He was quiet. “You’re welcome.”

He still sounded confused, and that wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all.

Those were some really nice thoughts she’d been having. They really were.

“I—” he said and then the rest was muffled in Rose’s mouth.

For all of about three seconds, it was the most glorious thing she’d ever done. Then it rapidly became the one she most regretted, then the most embarrassing, and then just the plain _worst_.

She wrenched herself away. Her heart was lodged somewhere at the bottom of her throat and not beating. “I’m _sorry_ ,” she said desperately. The room seemed unbearably vivid all of a sudden, including but certainly not limited to the Doctor’s body beside hers.

The Doctor stared at the spot right above her head for a moment, face horribly blank. He didn’t seem to be breathing.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, images of being kicked out of the TARDIS, carrying all her accumulated luggage on her back, back on the Powell Estate vivid in her mind’s eye, and then there were lips back on hers, frantic and relieved and just a little bit overjoyed.

Her hands went into his hair, just like in those very nice thoughts, and one of his pressed between her shoulder blades, cool even through her shirt. It didn’t matter, because it was amazing—was even better yet, when one of his legs slid in between her calves, as if by accident.

It lasted for an eternity and it still wasn't long enough. When he drew back, he sucked in his first real breath in several minutes and his whole face was _smiling_ like he couldn’t help himself.

“Rose Tyler,” he said.

“Doctor.” He couldn’t go far, because her hands were still in his hair, holding him to her. He didn’t seem to mind.

“Rose Tyler,” he said again, with less enthusiasm and a falling face.

“Oh no, don’t you dare,” said Rose and pressed her closed lips hard against his. She gave him no time to respond before she drew back, expression hard as diamond. “No second thoughts.”

“Oh, you know me, I’m well on my thirty-second thought by now,” the Doctor said in an almost normal tone of voice.

Rose released him. “Well, let’s stop there, then.”

“Are you sure? I don’t think thirty-two was a particularly good one, I could do—”

“Doctor.”

“—better.” His eyes darted away and a hand went up into his hair to ruffle it. “I could definitely do better. I mean, you’re Rose Tyler.”

“Is you talking nonsense a good or a bad thing right now? ‘Cause that varies.”

He looked at her for a moment. “I’m in your bed, aren’t I?” he mused. “And I did kiss you. Back. Enthusiastically. With tongue.”

Yes, he had, and she’d like him to do it again so if he’d just _shut_ _up_ —

“Yeah,” she said. “You did.”

He nodded solemnly. “So I did.”

Then he kissed her again.

When they broke apart, Rose’s lungs were screaming for air and she was lying on her back, the Doctor above her. She breathed, the sound like unsteady pants in the calm, quiet air, and stared up at him, wondering. He was inscrutable in the dark.

She pulled at his shoulders in an attempt to bring him back down. All he did was grin at her, unmoving.

“Rose Tyler,” he said for the third time, an odd stillness in his voice, now, this babbling, energetic, almost manic man.

She smiled a frankly stupid smile back up at him, then, and a burst of laughter bubbled up through her chest. He laughed back, and then she laughed harder, and then they were laughing together, him collapsing back down beside her.

The laughter petered out. They lay there, simply breathing, basking in each other’s presence.

“Nightmares?” the Doctor asked. There was laughter in his voice, still, but it had gone pleasantly gravelly.

“No way,” Rose said happily and rolled over to face him again. He was still on his back, but had turned his head to look at her. “Not after this.”

He considered her for a moment. “Maybe I should make sure…” he said, with an odd note of longing. “May I?”

His hands came up to her face, the tip of his index finger brushing her temple. Rose nodded, and he gripped her like she’d seen him do to others, thumb against her jaw, index and middle fingers by her temples, pinkies behind her ears.

She waited, but she didn’t really feel anything. The Doctor’s eyes fell closed for a moment, just a second or two, and then he released her, smiling again. “No nightmares,” he promised softly. “Not tonight, anyway.”

Holding her breath slightly, Rose put her head on his chest. “Thanks.”

She wasn’t pushed off and he didn’t shift away; a hand ran up her spine and another landed in her hair. “You’re welcome, Rose.”

Rose yawned against his chest. “I thought humans weren’t made for telepathy,” she said, voice mussed by the satisfied sleepiness weighing down her limbs. “Y’know. Undeveloped frontal lobes and wha’ever.”

“You’re not.” His breath stirred her hair as he talked. It was the single most comfortable she’d ever been, she thought. “But—remarkable things, brains. They translate it into something you can grasp, like sensory input or smells or feelings. They work with what they have, even if they can never hope to accurately convey what’s actually going on. Fairly creatively, too. D’you know, I was actually…”

Rose fell asleep to the Doctor softly rambling into her hair.

**Author's Note:**

> hello! thank you for reading! my humble self can be found on tumblr as [rackartyg](https://rackartyg.tumblr.com/). come say hi! my inbox is always open and sometimes i write things when the asks are clever.
> 
> kudoses & comments are very much appreciated, but coming up with something smart to say is hard. at least, i think so. therefore: should you be at a loss for words but still wanting to comment, as always, please write BANANA in all caps! i'll know what you mean.


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